Walked by the moon alone.
A nightingale, hidden in a Cyprus tree,
Jargoned on and on.
Alas! I rose, in pursuit of my second helping of strawberries and cream, and pulled a muscle in my upper back, as a result of which I am in agony. Sporadic agony, but still agony. Thus am I paid for my greed.* Still, it didn’t stop me going on to garden party number three, which had excellent wine, Lebanese nibbles, and gently pissed academics kissing arrivals in continental greeting. Fortunately, diclofenac does not clash with alcohol. Roll on Friday.
*And practicality. Eat anything significant at 5pm and you’re spoiling tea, so you might as well eat enough not to need a meal at all rather than have to come up with half a one.